it was late in july at the quecreek coal mine
when the water came rolling down
as black as bad blood to where nine good men stood
shuddering, shivering, shouting for deliverance
sure they would drown

and safe above ground, the boss paced around
surveying the scene of the flood
after chasing away the UMWA
so inspections were cheap- still he didn’t lose sleep
he just stood in the sun- "what could we have done?"
he said, "this was an act of god"

and the president came from his party campaign
to shake every hero’s right hand
after slashing the funds for the miners’ black lungs
and the regulations- "god bless our nation," he said,
"united we stand"

and the anchorgirl cried when the miners survived
she lauded her god in his glory
and the tired cameraman packed up the van
and they wore the same frown as they drove out of town
where they found the next sellable story

and we who were raised by invisible hands
and we who were raised on government lies
we prodigal children of the promiseland
who’s gonna open our eyes?